β± ππππππ, closed for @ridcersa / katerina.
β± ππππππππ, hell's bar.
πππ πππππ πππππ ππππππ πππ β laughter, music, the heavy scent of beer and smoke thick in the air. the kind of night he'd lived a thousand times over, the kind he would usually lose himself in without a second thought. and yet, even with a near empty bottle in his grip and the feeling of family by his side, he felt hollow. like something was missing. or someone. he didn't let himself dwell on it, never did. just drank more, laughed when expected, allowed the chaos of the night to swallow him whole. but even as he held his weight up against the bar, hazy from the liquor, he could feel it β her absence. it ate at his chest, nothing to feed on but a raging fire that had been burning since he was a child. one that only katerina could control β funny that his wife turned out to be a firefighter. like it was meant to be.
thought he was seeing things when he spotted her through the crowd. maybe the alcohol was playing tricks on π π ππππππ ππππ, maybe he'd drunk himself into wishful thinking. but no, it was her. his wife. a beauty so unmistakable. what was she doing here? she never came to these things β not willingly. a homebody, she called herself. he didn't mind. quite liked it, actually. she was always there waiting for him when he got home after a hard day, an escape from reality... β ouch! hit a nerve. it hurt him, thinking of the way they used to be. he knew her once. every part of her. she was a language he could speak in his sleep. and now his tongue feels tied.
ππ πππππ πππ ππππ from across the room, breath catching in his throat. the silence between them hums louder than the music. he should go to her. he should run to her, take her in his arms like he did on their wedding night. but for the first time in his life, he hesitates. she looks different. or maybe she doesn't. maybe it's the space between them stretching so wide that he can't see her clearly anymore. grip tightens around the bottle, knuckles white, breath slow. he has fought wars for men he calls brothers, bled for them β but facing her now feels like the hardest battle of all. and yet, he moves. picks up his feet before fear roots him in place.
ππ'π ππππππ πππ. close enough to catch the scent of her, like a high all on its own. he doesn't know what to say. has spent so long not talking to her, he doesn't know if he has the right. " mi querida... " words are soft, familiar. almost reaches for her cheek, one he so desperately wants to caress. but something is holding him back. the fear of letting her in, the fear of being seen, the fear that underneath his anger only lies hurt. instead his fingers clench the bottle of whiskey that had taken her place tonight, one he knows he shouldn't be holding in front of her. " what are you doing here? "
